Speedeet & Wilar: two boys, one friendship, Pike Street, Georgetown. Every Sunday.
De mango tree behind Miss Inez house was de tallest ting on de block. Older dan Miss Inez he rself, older dan Pike Street, probably older dan Independence. Every Sunday de branches heav y wid fruit and every Sunday dem boys on Pike Street had ideas about dat fruit.
Today it was Speedeet turn to have ideas.
“Wilar. You hear dat?”
Wilar was tying he shoelace. He stop. He listen.
“Hear what, bai? Is wind.”
“Dat ain’t wind.”
De leaves rustle. No breeze ain’t blowing. De coconut tree nex door ain’t even move. But Mi ss Inez mango tree rustling like it annoyed.
Den from inside de leaves:
“Eh-eh. Not so rough, nah.”
Speedeet jump back two feet.
“WILAR.”
“I hear it.”
“De tree just talk.”
“I hear it.”
“De TREE.”
“SPEEDEET I HEAR IT ALREADY.”
Dem both stand quiet for a whole minute, looking up. De mangoes was hanging heavy, yellow an d red, low enough dat a tall man could almost reach one.
Speedeet, who was not tall, was not a tall man, but he was twelve and ambitious. He reach up slow.
“Speedeet,” Wilar say.
“I just want one.”
“Speedeet de tree just talk to we.”
“I know. But one.”
His hand touch de skin of a ripe one.
“OW! Easy man! You ain’t got no manners?”
Speedeet snatch he hand back like he touch fire. He back up three more steps. Wilar back up wid him, wid de solidarity of a man who not sure wha going on but not going to leave he fri end to deal wid it alone.
“Who dat?” Wilar call out.
“Who you tink?” de tree say. “I is de tree.”
“De tree.”
“I is de tree, Wilar.”
“It know my name,” Wilar whisper.
“It know YOUR name?” Speedeet whisper back. “De tree know YOUR name and not MINE?”
“Bai I hear you both Sunday morning calling out to each other. I ain’t deaf. I is a tree.”
Dem didn’t know what to say to a tree. Dem nevah been in a situation where a tree was partic ipating in de conversation. De Sabbath school teacher had not prepare dem for dis.
Wilar try first, careful.
“Mr. Tree. We ain’t mean no disrespect. We was just going to pick one mango.”
“Just going to.”
“One each.”
“Just going to.”
De tree was not helping.
Speedeet try.
“We didn’t know you was… active.”
“Active,” de tree say. “Dat is what we calling it.”
“Talking. We didn’t know you was talking.”
“Bai last week you pelt me wid slipper.”
Wilar eyes get wide. Speedeet eyes get wide. Dem look at each other. Dem DID pelt de tree wid slipper last week. Wilar had thrown de slipper to knock down a mango and missed de mango an d hit a branch. Dem laugh about it and gone home.
“Dat… was you?”
“Was me de whole time, Speedeet. You tink de tree was different last week?”
“De slipper miss de mango,” Speedeet say quiet.
“De slipper hit me branch.”
“But de slipper was aimed at de mango.”
“WILAR.” Speedeet say. “Stop.”
Wilar stop.
“Mr. Tree,” Wilar say proper dis time. “We apologize. We bin rough. We ain’t ask. We was taking ting without asking. Dat was wrong.”
De tree rustle slow. De kind of rustle a grandfather do when he hearing what he waiting to h ear.
“Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Alright, Wilar. You got manners when you tink about it. I does like when children tink ab out it.”
Wilar exhale. Speedeet was watching him like Wilar just defuse a bomb.
“So…” Speedeet say.
“Yes?”
“One mango?”
De leaves shake.
“One each. Pick nice. No yanking. Twist it gentle like you know what you doing.”
“Yes sir.”
“And one more ting.”
“Yes sir.”
“Next Sunday bring lil water for me roots. De sun hot. Pike Street don’t have sprinkler and Miss Inez hose broke since last year.”
Speedeet look at Wilar. Wilar look at Speedeet.
“We bringing bucket,” Wilar say.
Speedeet reach up slow dis time. He twist de mango gentle, like de tree tell him. It drop cl ean into he palm. Wilar pick one too, careful. De tree sigh satisfied.
Dem walk off wid de mangoes in dem pocket. At de corner Speedeet bite he own and close he ey es. Sweet. De sweetest mango he ever had in his life.
“Wilar.”
“Yeah.”
“De tree ain’t normal.”
“Naw.”
“But…”
“But what?”
Speedeet chew for a moment.
“If you treat people good, dem does treat you good back.”
Wilar shrug.
“Even if de people is a tree.”
“Even if de people is a tree.”
Behind dem, de leaves rustle soft-soft. Miss Inez from de kitchen window heard de rustle and look up but she didn’t see nothing unusual. Just de tree doing what trees does on a Sunday morning on Pike Street.
“Dem boys finally learning someting,” de tree say to itself. “Yes. Finally.”
Speedeet & Wilar publishes every Sunday. This story is fiction set in Georgetown, Guyana.